Shanty Heights (Neutral): As with any city, upper and lower class are divided, and to the unfortunates of the Shiny Heights sector to the south, the Shells and Ribs have made the location their battleground. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, the people of the christened Shanty Heights struggle through life, trapped on all sides with their lives and livelihoods at stake, whether it be from the ruthless Shells or the rascally Ribs. What they do possess is companionship, and a yearning to flee the city as refugees, and will be willing to give whatever it takes to ensure their freedom from the bedlam. The pokemon who call Shanty Heights home are those who possess what the people do not: Freedom of movement and little worry for the battles around them. Reply in Violet.

"Well that was... disappointing," Erven muttered, more to himself than to Greg. They'd come to this foreign place for adventure and turtles, thus far finding a bit of both. Almost as soon as they had arrived, Even had been gifted a Torkoal, which pleased him greatly. The people here, he thought, were simply giving away their turtle pokemon, and so when he heard of a local group apparently known as "The Shells," Erven thought he might have stumbled upon a golden opportunity to acquire yet more turtles for his collection, and perhaps make some like minded acquaintances in the process. It did not take very long for him to discover that he had been sorely mistaken, as, from what he could tell, these "Shells" seemed more interested in taking what little he had rather than offering him much of anything. Having no desire to associate with such an organization, especially if there weren't even turtles involved, Erven, with his companion, Greg, and their newest friend, who remained inside her poke ball, sought somewhere where the people might be a bit more polite, and so found themselves in a ramshackle town where they were happy to remain very much un-accosted, at least for the present.

"I don't know if we're apt to find you any more pals here, buddy," Erven noted, quietly, as they made their way through the street, sticking rather close to one another. "But it looks like I'm less liable to lose you," he continued, examining their surroundings and taking note of the people who seemed too weary to pose any sort of threat. "I guess we'll consider that a win," he decided.

Dozens upon dozens of various types of graffiti were scrawled across the walls and pavement leading up to the Bastion, but one in particular stood out to Hiero among the rest. A crudely painted image of a person lying in what appeared to be a puddle of blood morphed into a message scrawled across the wall:

Quote:

THOSE WHO ENTER THE BASTION DO SO AT THEIR OWN RISK.
HELP WILL NOT COME FOR YOU HERE.
HIS LIFE WAS NOT WORTH IT.
YOUR LIFE IS NOT WORTH IT.

Hiero thought that it might be worth it. He'd heard the stories and rumors of the once grandiose ivory tower's fall from grace. Unfortunately - or, perhaps fortunately (that remained to be seen) - they were not enough to dissuade his curiosity, for he also knew of the supposed history surrounding the Bastion. When he was younger, Hiero had learned about the catastrophe of Goldenridge City. The city's demise was inevitable. In retrospect, the signs had all been there: corruption flowed through this city's veins both deep and wide. The descent into chaos had practically been a self-fulfilling prophecy. To say the majority of its inhabitants were complicit, one way or another, would be an understatement.

Hiero glossed over the spray-painted warning two or three times before turning his attention upward. It was drizzling. The tower effortlessly pierced the clouds, which were admittedly lower than normal due to the rainy weather. He took a deep breath and slowly walked ahead, right hand tightly clutching one of his Pokeballs. The distant, low rumble of thunder shook the ground, and the rain began to fall even harder.

His heart began to pound against his chest. The corner of his mouth curled.

Hiero stepped through the dilapidated entrance of the Bastion of Vacuous Dreams.

Marshal's Headquarters (Marshals): Situated in the relatively stable north, the headquarters of the police force is a large compound with tight security, home to the Goldenridge Marshals in their fight to restore the name of Goldenridge to bedlam. The force has recently started a campaign against the Shells and Ribs, seeking to push them out of the city once and for all, and are willing to accept mercenary support from trainers willing to help out in the fight. The reinforced location seems to be more attractive to pokemon who enjoy a sense of justice and honour. Reply in Silver.

Sypher stood at a pin board, shuffling through a collage of "For Sale" signs and several "want-to-trade" ads offering ridiculously poor trades. "There's really only rubbage being posted anymore..." he sighed to Jill, the small bat-like creature perched atop it, "you'd think someone who might actually need some help out there." The Noibat look at him with a smile before beginning to swat at a page flapping in the wind off to the far right of the board. Sypher moved more pages aside finding one with a bit more umph.

Quote:

Help Wanted:
Seeking Trainer to aid in clearing/relocating a Sitrus berry farm of a Caterpie infestation.

Reward: ~~~~~~~~~~~~~Inquire: ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Well, this will probably have to do. Not much to be gained from moving a bunch of Caterpie though" he said unenthusedly. He turned to the Noibat,who was desperately trying to remove the paper she had previously been swatting at, which now rested out just out of reach on the back of her wing. "How the ?" Sypher chuckled reaching over to remove the paper. "What you got here, huh?" Flipping the page over, he gave it a quick once over. "Help wanted... Town in state of turmoil... any skill level accepted... plan to partake in battles amongst other duties."

Sypher's eyes lit up. "This is it, the perfect way for you and me to get in some legitimate practice whilst helping the community. I bet we'll even get to punish some of those trade scammers in the process. Suicune for their Magicarp!" he mused thinking back to one of the other listing he had passed over. " Looks like we're headed down to old Goldenridge." Jill elated with news of travel took to the air circling around before picking a direction, fluttering out about 50 feet before returning and shrieking at Sypher, clearly impatient.

"What?" he retorted, now looking up at Jill, extending a finger in the opposite direction. "Goldenridge is that way." A bit of red flushed through Jill's face as she eased down to join Sypher as he began walking in the direction that he had motioned.

Several Days Later

Sypher and Jill arrived at the steps of the Headquarters. Entering they looked around for a receptionist or someone to talk to. "Hey, I found this notice on a board a few days out," Sypher said to a Marshall he pulled aside. "I'm here to apply for the positon, who do I need to see?"

Marshal's Headquarters (Marshals): Situated in the relatively stable north, the headquarters of the police force is a large compound with tight security, home to the Goldenridge Marshals in their fight to restore the name of Goldenridge to bedlam. The force has recently started a campaign against the Shells and Ribs, seeking to push them out of the city once and for all, and are willing to accept mercenary support from trainers willing to help out in the fight. The reinforced location seems to be more attractive to pokemon who enjoy a sense of justice and honour. Reply in Silver.

Sweat dripping from his brow, Jayson released a sigh of relief as he made his way through the outskirts of Bedlam city. His journey had been longer than expected and the lack of transport made him regret his heavy outfit. A dulled sword swung in the scabbard hanging from his left hip, his pack weighed heavy with the addition of the sharpened axe he carried. The straps of his pack rubbed uncomfortably against his leather pauldrons, he would have to consider a more comfortable setup for long distance travel when he had the opportunity. A shadow continued to circle around him, an upward glance revealed Atalanta, his new Rowlett companion flying overhead. She seemed to enjoy the trip, curious of her new surroundings and eager to stretch her wings.

Jayson wasn’t one to go into any situation blind, he had done some research on his destination during his journey. It seemed Bedlam city was a place of chaos and turmoil, two warring factions fighting for dominance while an overstretched police force did their best to protect the civilian population. It wasn’t a new experience for Jayson, he had dealt with similar situations before and found there was often plenty of work going for a man of his talents. Tough and not afraid of a fight, Jayson would look to earn some coin as a mercenary and in the process hopefully provide a bit of hope to the locals.

Although they were approaching the city from the north, that was meant to be relatively safe, Jayson wasn’t taking any chances. A quick whistle called Atalanta down from the skies, the Rowlett landed softly on Jayson’s left shoulder. She ruffles her feathers as she nuzzles up against his head, despite their short time together she had already become quite affectionate.

“Good girl Atalanta, keep your eyes peeled now”, Jayson reassured his companion, she would hopefully soon pick up on his habits. As he made his way through the streets, Jayson made sure to stand tall, rolling back his shoulders to display confidence and strength. His hand rested on the pommel of his sword as he made his way through the well-kept upper-class area. A few townspeople shoot him wary glances, perhaps mistaking him for a member of one of the local gangs. Jayson paid little attention to it however as continued to make his way towards the Marshal’s Headquarters. He was surprised how natural this section of the city seemed to be, the amount of plant life and magnificent gardens was unexpected.

Having navigated through the Crystal Grove, Jayson now found himself at the steps of the Marshal’s Headquarters. Entering through the doors, Jayson found the building to be alive with activity. Unsure who to approach about work, he decided just to throw the offer out.

“I hear there is work going for mercenaries with a sense of justice? I would happily offer my services, so long as they are rewarded with coin and a chance to help those in need.”

Balmund AND Brave Saix AND TheKnightsFury - Despite the intimidating, maximum security type aesthetic of the outside of the building, upon stepping into the headquarters, the sad state of affairs of the downtrodden police force became immediately apparent. A half-broken, flickering fluorescent light fixture dangled from the ceiling. At least four security cameras hung from cracked drywall, fixated directly on the entryway, but it was hard to say whether or not they even functioned. Sitting several feet in front of you was a rather defeated looking receptionist. He was situated at a wooden desk between a counter where a protective window once stood, and a large, barred, plexiglass window that allowed guests a view into the office space. The dimly lit room was filled with desks, but only half of them were filled. A few of the empty desks had wilted flowers resting in coffee mugs next to what looked to be family portraits. Others were covered in file folders and loose documents. Half of the floor looked to be covered in blank paper, much of it crumpled and torn. A few rugged, weathered detectives, not in uniform, were hunched over their desks smoking cigarettes and concentrating intensely.

The receptionist looked up at you and sighed. The bags under his eyes indicated that he most likely hadn't slept in days. He took a sip from his (probably cold) coffee. "I'm assuming you're both here for a job..." He stared daggers, as though he were looking at dead men walking. "You don't even need to answer. I've seen it all before. Yes... trainers just like you. They come to help the cause, they come for money, they come for justice, they come for the sense of self-importance and heroism. Many of them take the highest level offerings, and many never return. I wonder why you've come? It doesn't matter. It was rhetorical." The receptionist took another sip from his coffee. "Regardless, we won't turn down help when it's offered. Our officers - what remains of them, anyway - are overworked as is. We have a few investigations that need to be addressed yesterday, but we simply don't have the time, money, or manpower to take care of all of this city's overwhelming problems."

The receptionist opens a drawer, pulls out a clipboard, and sets it down on the counter. "Here, a small sampling of what we have available."

"Please note these cases are FIRST COME, FIRST SERVE. So. Are you in or are you out?"

The receptionist looks at the three of you impatiently...

The Bastion of Vacuous Dreams

Emi - Aside from the echoes of your own footsteps upon entering the building, the sound of a distant, rhythmic dripping of water, and the faint white noise of the whirring of central air coursing through the abandoned Bastion's ventilation system was all that could be heard. It was eerily quiet. The only source of light pierced through the windows and scattered throughout the large entry hall. The distance from the floor to the ceiling seemed astronomical. Several broken chandeliers hung from high above encircling a large, central one. From what you could tell, everything here was dilapidated and covered in gold and silver colors. All valuables appear to have been looted already; Large outlines where paintings once hung mark the walls, and the golden tiles of the floor appear to be chipped and cracked, several missing entirely. It's hard to tell if they are even real.

You clutched your gun tighter. This wasn't normal. Something was off, but you couldn't put your finger on what it was. Suddenly, a sound like a loud smacking of wood emanated from the guest room to your left. Without flinching, you cocked your gun and pirouetted toward the source of the sound. And then... lowered it. It was a cupboard door smacking against a wall adjacent to it, blown by a large gust of wind penetrating a nearby broken window. It was nothing, but having your guard up was not unjustified. The rumors, despite most being likely unfounded, were enough to make anyone this on edge.

After turning back around, you noticed the light began to cut through the windows even brighter than before - that or your eyes had adjusted more to the darkness. It was hard to say. You see a few options in front of you: You could ascend the spiral staircase which begins on the north side of the entry hall and winds skyward through the building, with crumbling platforms indicating floor stops; straight ahead, you see a connecting hall that stretches through to another towering section of the bastion - it looked dark, and a large puddle of water that ripples gently spans the width of its entry; to the east, there is a large open doorway with a descending staircase and a large wood, golden handrail splitting down the center - this appears to lead to the basement, or maybe just a lower floor, however, there is little to no light from what you can see; Finally, there was a door prior to the connecting hall, just to the side of the large puddle, that appeared to lead out into a courtyard - the once charming garden was now decimated and full of overgrowth, with several entries into the bastion's interior on all sides.

Emi - Aside from the echoes of your own footsteps upon entering the building, the sound of a distant, rhythmic dripping of water, and the faint white noise of the whirring of central air coursing through the abandoned Bastion's ventilation system was all that could be heard. It was eerily quiet. The only source of light pierced through the windows and scattered throughout the large entry hall. The distance from the floor to the ceiling seemed astronomical. Several broken chandeliers hung from high above encircling a large, central one. From what you could tell, everything here was dilapidated and covered in gold and silver colors. All valuables appear to have been looted already; Large outlines where paintings once hung mark the walls, and the golden tiles of the floor appear to be chipped and cracked, several missing entirely. It's hard to tell if they are even real.

You clutched your gun tighter. This wasn't normal. Something was off, but you couldn't put your finger on what it was. Suddenly, a sound like a loud smacking of wood emanated from the guest room to your left. Without flinching, you cocked your gun and pirouetted toward the source of the sound. And then... lowered it. It was a cupboard door smacking against a wall adjacent to it, blown by a large gust of wind penetrating a nearby broken window. It was nothing, but having your guard up was not unjustified. The rumors, despite most being likely unfounded, were enough to make anyone this on edge.

After turning back around, you noticed the light began to cut through the windows even brighter than before - that or your eyes had adjusted more to the darkness. It was hard to say. You see a few options in front of you: You could ascend the spiral staircase which begins on the north side of the entry hall and winds skyward through the building, with crumbling platforms indicating floor stops; straight ahead, you see a connecting hall that stretches through to another towering section of the bastion - it looked dark, and a large puddle of water that ripples gently spans the width of its entry; to the east, there is a large open doorway with a descending staircase and a large wood, golden handrail splitting down the center - this appears to lead to the basement, or maybe just a lower floor, however, there is little to no light from what you can see; Finally, there was a door prior to the connecting hall, just to the side of the large puddle, that appeared to lead out into a courtyard - the once charming garden was now decimated and full of overgrowth, with several entries into the bastion's interior on all sides.

Where you choose to go is up to you...

Lillian entered the Bastion, finding herself at the moment to be completely alone. There were no noises in the Bastion bar the sound of the water dripping and the wind moving through the Bastion's ventilation system. Lillian took a look around, and saw that most, if not all, of the valuables had been looted from the place already. Paintings were ripped off the walls, and many of the tiles that covered the floor were vandalized; some of them were cracked or broken, while others were ripped from the floor. Lillian doubted that the floor was really made out of gold, but she didn't really know if it was or not. Maybe a jeweler would, but she didn't boast that deep of an interest. Besides, she was distracted to begin with. From the minate she came in, her instincts were flaring up. Something was off about the Bastion. She couldn't figure out what it was, but she gripped her gun a little tighter, keeping her guard up. Was something watching her? Did she just walk into some kind of sick trap? These thoughts and more were racing through her head.

Suddenly, a loud noise rang out throughout the Bastion. Lillian, already on edge, swung around, pointing her gun at the source of the noise. But it wasn't anything to be worried about, she realized. It was a cupboard door, smacking into the wall, propelled by a gust of wind. Lillian felt just a little bit stupid about being sppoked by something so simple, but this place made her more on edge than she normally would be. She wondered if Nightingale was having an effect, but pushed that to the side. If she was, it would probably just be welcome.

Recovering from the shock, Lillian turned back around, aware that she could see a little bit better before, and assessed her options. There was the spiral staircase going up, a dark connecting hall that looked to be flooded, a descending staircase with a golden handrail and pitch-blackness, and a door just before the connecting hall that lead to the decripit gardens. Lillian immediately ruled out going into the gardens. She didn't feel that anyone would be waiting for her there. In fact, it just felt like a potential hazard going through the weeds and overgrown plants. Going downstairs into the basement or cellar was tempting, but Lillian also discounted that. She didn't have a potential light source to see through the darkness, and even with her instincts, she would essentially just be a sitting duck.

So it came down the corridor and going upstairs. Generally people secluded themselves deeper into a building, not towards the outer edges, but Lillian couldn't risk going further in without information. "Looks like I'm going upstairs. Hopefully, this staircase will keep. Things in this place look like they've seen better days." Lillian took the first step on the staircase, before resolving herself to continue climbing as high as she can up the staircase. An aerial advantage would be essential to planning.

The Bastion of Vacuous Dreams (Neutral): The centrepiece of the city located fittingly in the middle, the Bastion of Dreams was the main government building, stretching into the skies, and where the Goldenridge Council met their bloody end. The enormous structure yet stands, but no side dares to contest for the obvious vantage for fear of what lies within. Legends state that the building was constructed above and around a shrine to a creature of unknown origin said to sway the minds of those who happened upon it. As a result, it is largely abandoned, and many of the valuable documents within are up for grabs, though rumours have it that the final survivor of the council resides within, watching the world crumble around her, with an enigmatic force keeping her safe. Even the deities know not what pokemon are brave enough to reside within, but one thing is certain: those who have ventured in...have never emerged again. Reply in Dark Green.

"The former heart of the great Goldenridge City, now bled dry and left for the Murkrows as Bedlam City, huh." Ian muttered as he ambled with hands in coat pockets towards the fearsome structure, rustling through said pockets in search of something. "I'd kill for a cig but Helena would worry, wouldn't she?"

From within his coat, Suzu poked her head out, lightly singeing the sailor's whiskers on hearing the mention of cigarettes. She wasn't particularly fond of the smell and was part of the reason why Ian had begun weaning himself off them.

"Quite the righteous one, aren't you, Suzu? I can see why Sis asked me to take care of you." he chuckled as he ruffled Suzu's fur. "Now get back in your Poke Ball for now, it's dangerous for you to stay out here." The weight on his chest slunk back into her miniature home, a rather smudged Poke Ball that Helena had given him before his voyage to Fizzytopia. He hadn't thought that one of the first places he'd visit would have been this massive citadel in the middle of anarchy incarnate. However, he felt something was calling to him. He didn't quite know what it was, but the voice in his mind pushed him to chase that vague dream, in hopes of restoring the fire in his soul with a riveting adventure filled with danger and possibly riches.

Balmund AND Brave Saix AND TheKnightsFury - Despite the intimidating, maximum security type aesthetic of the outside of the building, upon stepping into the headquarters, the sad state of affairs of the downtrodden police force became immediately apparent. A half-broken, flickering fluorescent light fixture dangled from the ceiling. At least four security cameras hung from cracked drywall, fixated directly on the entryway, but it was hard to say whether or not they even functioned. Sitting several feet in front of you was a rather defeated looking receptionist. He was situated at a wooden desk between a counter where a protective window once stood, and a large, barred, plexiglass window that allowed guests a view into the office space. The dimly lit room was filled with desks, but only half of them were filled. A few of the empty desks had wilted flowers resting in coffee mugs next to what looked to be family portraits. Others were covered in file folders and loose documents. Half of the floor looked to be covered in blank paper, much of it crumpled and torn. A few rugged, weathered detectives, not in uniform, were hunched over their desks smoking cigarettes and concentrating intensely.

The receptionist looked up at you and sighed. The bags under his eyes indicated that he most likely hadn't slept in days. He took a sip from his (probably cold) coffee. "I'm assuming you're both here for a job..." He stared daggers, as though he were looking at dead men walking. "You don't even need to answer. I've seen it all before. Yes... trainers just like you. They come to help the cause, they come for money, they come for justice, they come for the sense of self-importance and heroism. Many of them take the highest level offerings, and many never return. I wonder why you've come? It doesn't matter. It was rhetorical." The receptionist took another sip from his coffee. "Regardless, we won't turn down help when it's offered. Our officers - what remains of them, anyway - are overworked as is. We have a few investigations that need to be addressed yesterday, but we simply don't have the time, money, or manpower to take care of all of this city's overwhelming problems."

The receptionist opens a drawer, pulls out a clipboard, and sets it down on the counter. "Here, a small sampling of what we have available."

There were four options.

"Please note these cases are FIRST COME, FIRST SERVE. So. Are you in or are you out?"

The receptionist looks at both of you impatiently...

"Heh, you guys must be really desperate if you're handing cases like these to anyone. Like shooting into the dark and hoping to get a lucky hit. I was expecting some kind of filter to be honest. You're gonna get some poor child killed one of these days if you haven't already. That said, I guess if some fool indeed bites on more than he could chew... well, I guess he was asking for it." Duke casually jabs as he reviewed the samples on the clipboard, not really bothering to see if he had offended the officer in the process. His eyes were focused in particular on the two higher leveled ones. Both cases were essentially infiltration missions which required identification of key components within the given operation in order to dismantle it completely. Given that both where run by shell members, Duke figured that one was possibly in direct relationship with the other, and he had the gut feeling that the Nightclub was being taken as a base of operations in order to run the gang's activity throughout the entire sector. Granted, a lot of the information was lacking, but perhaps if he could gather more intel on his own he could better plan a coordinated group attack against the heart of the beast. For now, however, he had a key advantage he could exploit in his favor, and one that was best taken advantage of as soon as possible: he was an outsider, brand new to the place. This alone would make it easier for him blend in anywhere without raising suspicion, and thus, he thought it best to take on ring of underground pokémon battles while he had the chance, perhaps by taking on the role of a gambler or a fighter himself while he got to know the inner workings of the place.

"Speaking of asking for trouble by the way, I will accept the case of illegal pokémon gambling north of here. My name is Balmund of Blackthorn City, but you can just call me a simple fool. Any more details concerning this mission would be greatly appreciated."

It’s a flavor that’s pretty unmistakable. The sort of thing one doesn’t typically have to have consumed prior, to recognize. Michael, it seems, is a rare exception, as he happily eats away at the suspect ice treat, even as Princess throws hers into a nearby bush. Struggling to withhold his laughter, Houston offers his to Blue, but the Panpour has better instincts than you. Princess covers her face with one hand, unable to continue watching you eat pee, and smacks the popcicle out of your hand.

“Didn’t anyone tell you not to take shit from strangers?” She asks, as she takes Houston’s away and flings it into a nearby parking lot. She shoves her knit projects into a messenger bag hanging from one shoulder before it gets any wee on it, before waggling a finger at Ryan, looking unimpressed.

“Don’t feed my new lackey piss,” she complains.

“Excuse you,” he balks, indignant. “It was piss and sugar.”

While you’re busy registering the fact that you’ve been busy sucking on a frozen stick of -- presumably -- human wizz, the Ribs continue to argue amongst themselves. You hear something about ‘fudge’ pops but the world is sort of a blur with the knowledge that there’s been pee in your mouth, and you aren’t listening.

After a few minutes of dealing with that life-changing experience, you return to the land of the living to find that the conversation has shifted away from biohazardous treats to more serious topics.

“...Syd bailed,” Princess is saying. Though she’s maintaining a straight face, there’s a subtle sadness in her voice. It must be hard, you realize, to have your spouse leave everything you stand for, even if everything you stand for involves giving strangers pee to eat.

“Shit, really?” Ryan asks. His demeanor has changed, and he almost sounds solemn. It seems like they must have been friends. “That’s not like S.”

“Shut the fuck up, what do you know?” Princess snaps. She clutches her stomach defensively. There’s a beat of awkward silence, and then Houston is the one to continue.

“...we’re going after Syd, Ryan. We figure we can still catch up before the Marshals get involved.”

Ryan clicks his tongue against his teeth. He knows what Houston is getting at. Leaning on his elbows against the service counter, he sighs. “...fine,” he finally concedes. “Passenger door’s unlocked. Hop in.”

Looks like you’ve caught yourself a ride. It’ll make catching up to Syd a lot quicker, but are you willing to ride with a man who fed you his urine?

Shanty Heights

Kawaii:

You’re quick to help, but not as quick as Cerno and Freighya. At first, the fire brigade -- and the home owners -- are concerned for the safety of the Pokémon, but after a few minutes, it appears they have things under control. The house is likely unsalvageable, but the extra securement does help in the process of searching for items to salvage.

Jeremy, meanwhile, considers the question. “We aren’t certain,” he admits. “But we think it’s gang related. We’re right in between Ribs and Shells territory, and they do a lot of awful things to the people here for a lot of awful reasons. It could be the Shells trying to extorts us, or the Ribs just looking for some kicks… we’d try to hunt them down, but right now we’re too busy just trying to keep the fires under control. If we can get enough hands fighting the fires, however, we might be able to allot some manpower to hunting down the culprits -- that would be ideal. Anyway -- you said you’re interested?! That would be great! It’s just about fifteen blocks due south. I can walk you there.”

“Can we come?” Mathilda asks, suddenly. Jeremy laughs.

“Sorry, kiddo,” he apologizes. “You and Sam ought to head home. Me and your new friend are going to go get some work done, okay?”

Mathilda seems sad, but she nods resolutely, and performs a Marshal’s salute to Jeremy, before turning to you. “Can I say goodbye to your Espeon?” She asks.

OOC: Ok, let's see if I can juggle two people. RIP Neverthrive, you're stuck with me.

THE BASTION OF VACUOUS DREAMS

Heather:

You ask Magus to scout ahead and try to detect anything that could be considered spooky. His assurance that he wouldn't be able to find anything was misplaced as his senses become bombarded with horrors...

Meanwhile, you go to calm down the angry raging athlete whose yelling had now woken the little boy up too. He glares at you, anger in his eyes.

"Take it down a notch? We're trapped, lady! Maybe instead of crying about your poor widdle head, you start trying to help me find a way out of here!"

With all the executive function of that one guy in every horror movie that tells the gang to split up, the athlete storms away from the group and enters one of the adjacent rooms. As he slams the doors shut, the light starts to flicker. How weird. And weirder still, you could swear that the door he walked through looked different a moment ago...

The woman with you sighs, shaking her head in a disappointed fashion.

"Don't mind Darren, Heather. He's always been a bit jumpy, remember? Too busy running to stop and think." She says. Typical, really. A man who's all talk but no w-wait. How did she know your name?

You have no time to ponder this, however, as a loud terrified yell comes from an adjacent room. Darren! He must have found something, but what?What do you do?

-----------------

SHANTY HEIGHTS

neverthrive:

Is there anything worse than false advertisement? You came to Bedlam Ridge hoping to meet fellow turtle enthusiasts and instead find a ruthless gang of bandits. They should really put that in the travel brochure so other people don't get fooled. Luckily, you've found a safer, less gang infested area of the City to explore. You make your way down the streets of Shanty Heights, your faithful Squirtle companion in tow. The people there keep a wary distance from you, having learned to distrust strangers entering their city after years of attacks from the Ribs and Shells. At least you weren't gonna get robbed or anything here, right? Right?

The streets start to empty as you travel futher through the city, and soon you find yourself being the only pedestrian out and about. Looks like you can breathe a little easier. Or maybe you should worry that the streets were too quiet - that someone could be lurking around the corner. Watching. Waiting...
A glimmer down the street catches your eye. You follow the glimmer to its source - an ornate turtleshell just standing there in the middle of the road, held aloft by two orange clasps. And if that wasn't surprising enough, coins seemed to be pouring out from each of it's holes. It was if the heart of the shell was filled with gold. You've stumbled upon a fortune, and nobody's around. Do you take the turtleshell or leave it?

Deoxys: As you walked through the entrance of the old building, the booming rumbles of the distant thunder set a gloomy atmosphere to accommodate the darkness. That was one of the first things you noticed - the darkness surrounding you was unnatural, almost entirely encompassing ... and yet, strangely, your sight seemed hardly impaired. You could make out the details of a rather grandiose reception area - fitting for such a highly regarded governmental building, and the traces of the corruption you had heard of were still scattered here and there. At least, those bolted down well enough for the two warring gangs to have not already made off with.

A flash of lightning chases away the darkness for a brief moment, illuminating the surroundings and revealing a number of exits to the room. Before you can approach any though, a blood curdling scream echoes around the area. There didn't seem to be any one source to the abrupt noise - if anything, it echoed all around you, assaulting your ears. Without warning, a figure staggered from one of the corridors leading off from the lobby, a young woman who couldn't be much younger than yourself. Dressed in typical office attire - a white blouse and black trousers - she staggered forwards, her footsteps clearly uneasy and forced. It begins to become painfully evident that she was in no fit condition. Her brown hair was tussled awkwardly and her face had a number of cuts, but much more alarming was the distinct red pattern spreading across her blouse. A blood red pattern. Before she can reach you, all strength leaves her body, her figure crumpling like a rag doll and revealing a large knife protruding from her back. Rushing to her, your head begins to hurt with every step, and a strange fog clouds your eyes. A sound crackling like static on an old television set fills your ears, and for the briefest of seconds your vision drops completely. As it returns, there is one thing glaringly wrong.

The body was gone. Whisked away in an instant, all trace of what had just occurred had vanished. All trace, that is, bar a small puddle of blood ... and crimson footsteps heading into one of the nearby corridors. Despite this, one more thing catches your attention. An eerie grinding noise emanated from another corridor, the sound ebbing in volume.

Marshal's Headquarters (Marshals): Situated in the relatively stable north, the headquarters of the police force is a large compound with tight security, home to the Goldenridge Marshals in their fight to restore the name of Goldenridge to bedlam. The force has recently started a campaign against the Shells and Ribs, seeking to push them out of the city once and for all, and are willing to accept mercenary support from trainers willing to help out in the fight. The reinforced location seems to be more attractive to pokemon who enjoy a sense of justice and honour. Reply in Silver.

A platinum blonde woman walked up to what she assumed was the Marshals' Headquarters, each of her steps filled with purpose. Wearing a subdued silver tank top and a pair of designer jeans, finished with a pair of blue kitten heels and a light pink sun hat, Melody had specifically sought out the HQ once she found out about Bedlam.

Walking alongside her was what appeared to be a pink plush toy, Princess the Stufful, scouting ahead every now and then. After all, Princess was the best bodyguard out there.

Melody had talked to her PR guy, and he thought that trying to do something with the situation would do wonders for her public image, and she had been secretly thrilled that he had agreed with her. She didn't like to share this part of her personality publicly, but there was always a part of her that wanted to be a hero.

And that was how she found herself standing at the doors to the HQ, hoping to become a little bit more of a hero... and getting a great PR opportunity.

PikaGod: Walking through the doors of the high security building before you, you realise immediately the starkly grim situation that the city found itself in. The disrepair of the headquarters was somewhat astonishing, the place giving off a decidedly temporary feel. Wooden desks were situated around the lobby, worn detectives desperately trying to remain awake as they worked. As if manifest in this single lobby, the dark outlook for the future of Bedlam was etched onto the face of every detective in the dimly lit room. Their calloused hands worked furiously over documents, each no doubt detailing the most recent ongoing activities of the two warring gangs. Some managed to stave off the tiredness by drinking cups of coffee, while others smoked prodigally. It is one of these officers who approaches you on noticing your presence.

Lumbering over from his desk, the large yet portly man looks down his nose at you through small, black eyes. While the detectives in the room certainly looked far from their best, this man in particular had distinctly unkempt attire. His shirt was stained here and there with blotches of what could only be meals previously consumed, and his jacket that he wore over the once white shirt was frayed at the cuffs and seemed a size too small - it had certainly never been buttoned at the front in quite some time. Despite this, the general air exuded from the man held a sense of authority, though the way his colleagues eyed him suspiciously made it clear he was not a welcome addition to the squad. As if to punctuate the sentiment that oozed from his coworkers, his gruff tone barks out a greeting .. of sorts.

"Come t' 'give us some help', eh?"

His words had a sneering accusation to them combined with a heavy cloud of smoke which crawled forth as he spoke, the cigar clenched between his teeth never once seeming in danger of falling from his mouth.

"Well, sorry t' tell you that the only work I have for someone like you is patrol duty. You walk around the streets surroundin' the Headquarters and make sure to chase off any stragglers that come to cause us bother. Only the small fry though. Anything bigger to fry, you come see us immediately. Wouldn't want someone of your 'delicate' disposition getting hurt now, would we?"

His final words are marred with a gruesome smile, his lips widening enough to show a number of teeth were missing from their place.

TheKnightsFury - Despite the intimidating, maximum security type aesthetic of the outside of the building, upon stepping into the headquarters, the sad state of affairs of the downtrodden police force became immediately apparent. A half-broken, flickering fluorescent light fixture dangled from the ceiling. At least four security cameras hung from cracked drywall, fixated directly on the entryway, but it was hard to say whether or not they even functioned. Sitting several feet in front of you was a rather defeated looking receptionist. He was situated at a wooden desk between a counter where a protective window once stood, and a large, barred, plexiglass window that allowed guests a view into the office space. The dimly lit room was filled with desks, but only half of them were filled. A few of the empty desks had wilted flowers resting in coffee mugs next to what looked to be family portraits. Others were covered in file folders and loose documents. Half of the floor looked to be covered in blank paper, much of it crumpled and torn. A few rugged, weathered detectives, not in uniform, were hunched over their desks smoking cigarettes and concentrating intensely.

The receptionist looked up at you and sighed. The bags under his eyes indicated that he most likely hadn't slept in days. He took a sip from his (probably cold) coffee. "I'm assuming you're both here for a job..." He stared daggers, as though he were looking at dead men walking. "You don't even need to answer. I've seen it all before. Yes... trainers just like you. They come to help the cause, they come for money, they come for justice, they come for the sense of self-importance and heroism. Many of them take the highest level offerings, and many never return. I wonder why you've come? It doesn't matter. It was rhetorical." The receptionist took another sip from his coffee. "Regardless, we won't turn down help when it's offered. Our officers - what remains of them, anyway - are overworked as is. We have a few investigations that need to be addressed yesterday, but we simply don't have the time, money, or manpower to take care of all of this city's overwhelming problems."

The receptionist opens a drawer, pulls out a clipboard, and sets it down on the counter. "Here, a small sampling of what we have available."

There were four options.

"Please note these cases are FIRST COME, FIRST SERVE. So. Are you in or are you out?"

The receptionist looks at the three of you impatiently...

Jayson paid little attention to the pair of trainers next to him. He was certain they had their own endeavours and he was much more focused on the jobs they had been offered. One of the other trainers quickly snapped one up, cutting Jayson's options down to 3. He read them over and the first one was the most appealing to him, the reports of Pokemon battles and how the criminals seemed to disappear whenever authorities arrived would make for an enjoyable hunt. If Jayson was going to blend in enough that the crooks wouldn't scatter as soon as they saw him, he would have to dump his gear for now.

Jayson rips the first job off the wall and makes his way over to the reception desk. Smiling at the desk clerk, Jayson expresses his wishes to leave some of his gear at the station while he is out on his assignment.

"Hi there, my name is Jayson. I'm about to go out on this job but I need to blend in a bit more, can you tuck some of my stuff away for me? I will be back to grab it when I am done."

Then begins the offloading of his equipment, Jayson unhitched his belt to remove his sword, placing it on the counter. He removed the knife from the scabbard on the back of his belt and then untied the straps on his pauldrons. He lifted the heavy leather armour up over his head and placed it on top of the growing pile. He decided to keep his gauntlets on, they blended into the outfit alright. His hands ran through his hair, scruffing it up a bit. He was ready. He recalled Atalanta into her Pokeball which he tucked into his pocket, apologising as he explained that the criminals would likely be more wary of him if they saw a Pokemon. Checking the job sheet once more, Jayson saw that he was instructed to start at Goldenridge Park, just a few blocks to the south.

134: Mesmerised as you are by the Pidove, your gentle cooing towards the bird as you begin to slowly inch towards it, trying to be as quiet as possible to avoid further attention. As you creep along the cracked ground, you realise that the damaged floor appears only to be on the surface, while Kakahai follows you, hidden from view behind the wall of the balcony. Only ten paces from the avian, the pigeon tilts its head slightly, still staring at you with those eyes as your heartbeat picks up, five steps away from it...

The Pidove then blinks.

As eye contact is broken, you have the feeling of sinking and as the Vaporeon squeaks out, you realise the floor in front of the bird is nowhere near as stable, the balcony giving way beneath your frame as the Pidove begins to coo repeatedly, as though laughing at your misfortune before fluttering off the barrier. Your fall is short and broken by something surprisingly solid, to a chorus of shock. Kakahai hops down after you, concerned for your welfare, and as you flop onto the ground, pain in your legs from the landing, the sensation of being looked at by a crowd sinks into you as you find yourself discovered by every one of the folk...who seem to have the same marking as outside on their person, be it clothing, tattoo, paint or otherwise handmade jewellery.

"Wha-what the hell was that!?"

Before you can do anything, you're hauled to your feet by four arms and turned around to the sorry sight of a bashed and mangled arcade machine, with one rather irked man around your age with a scruffy chin frowning at you. Kakahai makes a half-hearted attempt to defend you, but the sight of Croagunk and Emolga is enough to make the Vaporeon back down against you, both of you trembling as you try to apologise/bargain.

"God damn it, I was on a good run there and now it's busted! Again! You got some nerve, boy!" the fellow snarls, until a few voices butt in.

"You sure that's a guy? Looks like a girl to me..."

"You look a girl, more like."

"WHAT!? Wanna say that to my face, punk!?"

"Oh great, those two numpties are at it again..."

"Who knows, that kid's ambiguous as it is, could be nonbinary or fluid..."

"Does it matter, folks?" the first man barks, before looking at you and your companion, then up at the Pidove perched on a post further up, then the wrecked arcade machine. After a few seconds of pondering, the folk holding you pipe up.

"So whadda we gonna do about this sneaky little vandal, Ross?"

"Should we chuck 'em into the shark hole? Shove 'em through the Cacnea pen?"

"Nah, let 'm go," the prior fellow, now know as Ross sighs. "Kid musta wandered in out of the rain after the bird up there, given their getup. Course, can't let em get away with wrecking my console there..." he growls, before waving an arm as the crowd forms a circle around you and Ross, the two holding you having let go.

"Right, here's how things work round here with the Ribs, kid," he starts, plucking a ball from his pocket and enlarging it. "I sees you got a nice Vaporeon there by yer side. Now, we Ribs, we don't see much point in grabbing other's property when they sneaks into ours, but kudos where it's due. Point I'm making is..." he pauses, tossing the ball to the side to reveal something familiar to Kakahai, yet much fluffier with a orange and yellow coat and a huge tail that seems like a flame.

"...you gonna have to entertain us folks. Your Vape against my Flareon, one on one. Lose, we chuck you back out into the rain and storms. Win, we overlook your trespassin' and see about making your wild goose chase somethin'..." Ross concludes, the Rib one to listen to reason, yet eager for some form of payback. You've no way out of this one it seems, but it appears you've got a fair fight in front of you, Ross' Flareon staring at Kakahai, ready for a scrap...

Tate was afraid of heights. Tate was afraid of gangs. Tate was afraid of being murdered by heights and Tate was afraid of being murdered by gangs.

Tate fell from a significant height, into a den of gangs, and somehow, it felt like the Pidove was laughing the whole time. Something incredibly solid broke the trainer's fall -- and for a moment, it felt like it broke Tate's back, too -- and the world was spinning and everything was dark and scary and people were yelling. Tate slides onto the floor in a considerable amount of pain, just in time for Kai to join her trainer, and the company is welcome and soothing, but perhaps not enough to protect from the group of angry thungs closing in. They begin to bicker, and at first it's simply frightening, especially with the threatening Pokémon closing in. Then it becomes something else entirely, and Tate can't help but be almost amused and perhaps even impressed by it all -- the bird keeper even tries to interject, but doesn't really have the opportunity to do so, before a challenge is issued. One of the Ribs -- a fellow by the name of Ross, it seems -- produces a Poké Ball, and from it emerges a Flareon.

"Oh jeez," Tate grunts. "Look, we don't really battle, you know, and besides -- don' you think this will end poorly for you? I mean... we have the type advantage."

Diplomacy at its finest. Kai isn't impressed with her trainer's words and neither, presumably, are the Ribs. Though she's never been in a fight before, she's also not nearly so intimidated by the Flareon as she was by the Emolga or by the Croagunk, either; something about seeing not only a member of her evolutionary lineage, but one to whom she holds the up hand seems to have inspired a sense of cockiness, and she yawns to demonstrate this, before spitting an emboldened water gun in the Flareon's direction. Tate yelps, not nearly as prepared to fight as Kai is.

You’re quick to help, but not as quick as Cerno and Freighya. At first, the fire brigade -- and the home owners -- are concerned for the safety of the Pokémon, but after a few minutes, it appears they have things under control. The house is likely unsalvageable, but the extra securement does help in the process of searching for items to salvage.

Jeremy, meanwhile, considers the question. “We aren’t certain,” he admits. “But we think it’s gang related. We’re right in between Ribs and Shells territory, and they do a lot of awful things to the people here for a lot of awful reasons. It could be the Shells trying to extorts us, or the Ribs just looking for some kicks… we’d try to hunt them down, but right now we’re too busy just trying to keep the fires under control. If we can get enough hands fighting the fires, however, we might be able to allot some manpower to hunting down the culprits -- that would be ideal. Anyway -- you said you’re interested?! That would be great! It’s just about fifteen blocks due south. I can walk you there.”

“Can we come?” Mathilda asks, suddenly. Jeremy laughs.

“Sorry, kiddo,” he apologizes. “You and Sam ought to head home. Me and your new friend are going to go get some work done, okay?”

Mathilda seems sad, but she nods resolutely, and performs a Marshal’s salute to Jeremy, before turning to you. “Can I say goodbye to your Espeon?” She asks.

Kawaii smiled "Sure thing."
Freighya trotted up to the young girl and nuzzled her affectionatly.
The pink-haired trainer nodded "That would be super helpful, I get lost quite easily." she sighed.
As their trainer left the pokemon scrambled to keep up, with Becky riding on the Lotad's lilypad. Cerno zipped easily through the air just behind them pushed along by a gentle breeze.
Frieghya stared at the girl for a moment then closed her eyes Goodbye Mathilda. she told the young girl telepathically, putting extra care to sound mystical but also motherly. Her pearl-white jewl flashed once, calming the child down, before the espeon ran off following the others. Kawaii surveyd the surroundings as they walked. Every moment here broke her heart and she withed she could do something to help all of the people here. She would give up anything just to see them all free and happy. That gave her an idea, she bekoned Cerno over and told him of her plan. The Cottenee agreed and returned to his pokeball. The pik gaired trainer pulled out another pokeball and released it's occupant. A Comfey named Flora. Almost imeadiatly the area around them filledd with a sense of calm happieness. The fairy type floated easily on the breeze as flowers grew underneath her. She would swoop down and pickup a flower and give it to the nearest refugee. It chirruped hapily as it also added the flowers it grew to the string under it's body. Kawaii smiled hopeful that having the flower-gathering pokemon there would help with the sense of dullness in the area.

__________________
FIZZY BUBBLES INFO IS NOW ON UPNHERE
Thanks to my best friend Missingno Master for the banner
óÓÒò furry, witch, and pansexual.
Little (little age of 2-4)
Hater of loss meme
Little (space): someone who goes to a younger sense of mind to deal with stress and anxiety.
crazy in love with my boyfriend AcendedDailga

You ask Magus to scout ahead and try to detect anything that could be considered spooky. His assurance that he wouldn't be able to find anything was misplaced as his senses become bombarded with horrors...

Meanwhile, you go to calm down the angry raging athlete whose yelling had now woken the little boy up too. He glares at you, anger in his eyes.

"Take it down a notch? We're trapped, lady! Maybe instead of crying about your poor widdle head, you start trying to help me find a way out of here!"

With all the executive function of that one guy in every horror movie that tells the gang to split up, the athlete storms away from the group and enters one of the adjacent rooms. As he slams the doors shut, the light starts to flicker. How weird. And weirder still, you could swear that the door he walked through looked different a moment ago...

The woman with you sighs, shaking her head in a disappointed fashion.

"Don't mind Darren, Heather. He's always been a bit jumpy, remember? Too busy running to stop and think." She says. Typical, really. A man who's all talk but no w-wait. How did she know your name?

You have no time to ponder this, however, as a loud terrified yell comes from an adjacent room. Darren! He must have found something, but what?What do you do?

Heather huffed indignantly at the athlete boy's response. She honestly wanted to smack him over his condescending, smarmy back talk (and maybe show him just how hard it was to think when your head hurt so much), but she didn't get the chance. After he finished his infuriating little tirade, he stormed off, walking into one of the doors on the side of the room.

Oh, great. All he was missing was a loud, obnoxious shout of "LEEEEEEROYYYYY JENKINS!" to complete the act. Heather thought, facepalming.

I wouldn't recommend following him. There's weird things all over this place, we need to just get out of here, as soon as possible. came Magus' voice, the Misdreavus' countenance etched with consternation. Taking a second look at the door, Heather had a realization: hadn't that door looked different before? Clearly, it was a trap, an inference confirmed by a bloodcurdling scream from the athlete not moments later. It was at that moment that the older woman spoke to her.

"Don't mind Darren, Heather. He's always been a bit jumpy, remember? Too busy running to stop and think." she said, causing Heather to immediately go on full alert. Two major things were majorly spooky about that statement. For one, the woman knew both her and (apparently) Darren's names despite no introductions being made. Sure, Heather enjoyed being addressed by her name as opposed to anything else-so long as she'd actually introduced herself, which she most certainly had not. Secondly, there was a distinct implication that Heather was supposed to have known Darren from beforehand. She was supposed to remember how recklessly impetuous a person she'd no recollection of meeting was? Like hell that was normal! Given the choice between helping Darren out of a trap that would likely trap her or confronting the woman who clearly knew something, the answer was obvious. Heather fished Grace's Ball from her Bag and expanded it, keeping an iron grip upon it as she readied to let loose.

"Just who are you, really?" Heather said, having paused long enough as she'd put the pieces together. "More importantly...what do you want from us?" she added, ready to unlesh the furious ball of flying squirrel in her hand at a moment's notice.

The Bastion of Vacuous Dreams (Neutral): The centrepiece of the city located fittingly in the middle, the Bastion of Dreams was the main government building, stretching into the skies, and where the Goldenridge Council met their bloody end. The enormous structure yet stands, but no side dares to contest for the obvious vantage for fear of what lies within. Legends state that the building was constructed above and around a shrine to a creature of unknown origin said to sway the minds of those who happened upon it. As a result, it is largely abandoned, and many of the valuable documents within are up for grabs, though rumours have it that the final survivor of the council resides within, watching the world crumble around her, with an enigmatic force keeping her safe. Even the deities know not what pokemon are brave enough to reside within, but one thing is certain: those who have ventured in...have never emerged again. Reply in Dark Green.

Maria looked up at the Bastion with disdain. Every part of the Bastion, from the stairs up to the entrance to the tower itself, was in shocking disrepair. It may have been a brilliant building at one point, but as it stood right now, a Jenga tower looked better than it.

"This place is an actual dump, Boop. It's like a Hippopotas had explosive diarrhea and Tail Whipped it all over the place. You sure the Trousers would be in a place like this?" Maria says, turning to face her partner. Boop let out what sounded like a small laugh, likely directed at the Hippopotas comment, but Maria wasn't too sure if it was a legitimate laugh or more of a "haha". Even after all her time of living with Mimikyu, it was still kinda hard to figure out exactly how they felt. Unlike people or most other Pokemon, there wasn't really much body language to go off of. This wasn't an issue most of the time, Boop being relatively straightforward with her, but these little differences were sometimes hard to spot. Regardless, it seems the comment went over well, given Boop quickly responds in Poke Speak of her own.

"Funny, but don't let its appearance fool you. The tower reeks of death, and an incredibly powerful energy leaks from it like radiation. Surely even you can feel some of it with your pitiful human senses?"

Now that Boop mentioned it, something indeed felt...off about the Bastion. It was faint, but the feeling was there. Maria nods her head "yes" in response. To this, Boop seems to give an approving nod of its own, and follows up with another sentence.

"Good. Pay less attention to appearance, and feel for that energy next time we pop by a questionable place. As for the Trousers: it's possible, but I think the most likely case is that it's something else. It's still worth checking out though, could give us a good lead. I say we investigate."

After a few more brief words, the two begin to walk the steps up to the Bastion's entrance. To Maria's embarrassment, her small noodle eight year old arms are unable to open the heavy doors unaided. With the help of Boop this time, they slowly push the door open, and shuffle inside.

Gemini Spark: You may have been a spirit of vengeance given new life, but you weren't such a fool as to approach a stronghold heavily defended when you had no clue how the Shells would react. As you make your way to the hidden figure, you and Chex are thankfully unseen, and reach the figure, who happens to be considerably shorter than you, wearing an unusual mask and clad in many strips of cloth that form a makeshift jumbled robe.

"Ah, kyu reaches me-me not seen!" the figure squeaks, voice high-pitched and slightly grating on the ears to say the least. "Me-me knows ghost when me-me sees one, kyu not man-man truly!" The stranger's revelation catches you by surprise though you manage to maintain the facade without saying or doing anything, curious. Questioning the stranger, they whirl around before continuing.

"Why me-me knows? Because me-me also not man-man, silly! Me-me lost me-me self in big castle place, bang-bang squads take me-me self. Now me-me seeks to make bang-bang squads DIIIIIIEEEEEEEE!" the figure practically roars the final word, as you and Chex take a defensive posture, waiting for inevitable discovery...except nothing. Not even a cough, as though the Shells didn't notice.

"Kyu big and strong with hard bug and friends! Me-me sad that me-me not strong. Me-me not able to make bang-bang squads be the PAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNN! So me-me wants kyu to help me-me find self! Me-me make worth while! What kyu ask, me-me give! Help me-me?"

Neemee, as eccentric as they appear, seems to be making you an offer you would be as crazy as they are to refuse. Chex shrugs, clearly as confounded as you are at the four foot masked figure, but if the being is as honest as they state, you could have the first step towards your goal in sight. What'll you do?

While they were able to sneak their way to the hooded figure, Michael couldn't help but notice how much smaller the figure looked up close, and the cloak looked like a bunch of different rags shoddily put together with a weird looking mask, but the voice that came out of this mysterious being was what truly made them unique:

"Ah, kyu reaches me-me not seen! Me-me knows ghost when me-me sees one, kyu not man-man truly!"
That particularly caught Michael off guard. "Wha- I-I..have no idea what you're talking about," he bluffed, but the odd entity continued on as if it wasn't listening.
"Why me-me knows? Because me-me also not man-man, silly! Me-me lost me-me self in big castle place, bang-bang squads take me-me self. Now me-me seeks to make bang-bang squads DIIIIIIEEEEEEEE!" Michael and Chex instinctively tense up, thinking that shouting attracted the attention of the Shells, but nope, not even an eyelash was batted at the sound. "Ah, but where me-me man-man nears? Me-me am not man-man, me am Neemee! Kyu seeks castle seekies? Me-me has sneaky way in! Me-me use ghost tunnel to sneak-sneak in to castle! But me-me call kyu for super helpful task."
"What would you need our help for?" asked Michael.
"Kyu big and strong with hard bug and friends! Me-me sad that me-me not strong. Me-me not able to make bang-bang squads be the PAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNN! So me-me wants kyu to help me-me find self! Me-me make worth while! What kyu ask, me-me give! Help me-me?"

Quite the peculiar character, this Neemee. It also said it was a ghost? Still, it did seem to know of a way in, and that was exactly what Michael was looking for; he wouldn't even have to claim membership with those contemptible thugs to do it! And with the limited interaction he had with the new figure, there was no reason to distrust it, at least not yet. He looked at Chex, who couldn't seem to decide one way or another. "All right then, friend, you get us in, we have a deal." Michael nodded. "All I need is information; once I have that, we can help you do whatever you want with the place."

Bedlam Quarry (Neutral): Hotly contested by both the Marshals and the Ribs, the Goldenridge Quarry is the source of the gold and minerals that gave life to the town, and as such is highly valued as a source of funding for all groups. Found in the north-east, the open-cast mine goes deep into the mountainside, and there are still riches to be found as long as one is careful given the turmoil within. The miners have since fled, with only the foolhardiest and toughest remaining to maintain the machinery and extract minerals. The mountainous terrain is a haven to pokemon who enjoy the rocky locale, and there have been sightings of greedy pokemon too. Reply in Beige.

Body spreadeagled on the ground, Sweeney looks up at the downcast sky with a sullen mood hanging around him. The trainer had only wanted to head through Goldenridge - he had no real intention of getting caught up between the warring factions and those trying to bring them to justice. The state of the city didn't affect him much at all, but by some twisted turn of fate he found himself in one of the most hotly contested areas in the entire area. Grumbling, about the most vocal the trainer would ever allow himself to become, Sweeney removed himself from the sodden ground, wiping away the scuff marks and dirt which had adhered to his normally pristine suit. As he does so, the distinct sound of one of his companions began to hiss through the air, joined quickly by the newest addition.

Joss and Samson were both in hysterics over the tumble their trainer had just taken down the side of the quarry, despite the fact the fall very easily could have ended up fatal. Joss was flapping his wings desperately in an attempt to remain airborne while much of his current air supply was being channeled into his wild cackling, punctuated here and there with his most annoying of catchphrases - "let's go boys!" Where the Chatot had gleaned the phrase from Sweeney would never know, and the trainer mused to himself just how much of the bad behaviour of his group Samson had already begun to pick up. The small Salandit was a feisty one, determined to make his mark in and out of battle, but he had fallen into a rather irritating camaraderie with Marco, the pair becoming much more than the sum of their parts when it came to getting Sweeney into trouble.

Finally managing to stretch out most of the residual ache from his fall, Sweeney looked around his surroundings, noticing a nearby entrance into the tunnels of the quarry. Just as he does, a light drizzle begins to fall, but the distinct boom of thunder promises something much more forceful. Shrugging his shoulders, Sweeney decides that some sort of cover would be better than none at all, heading for the entrance to the tunnel. Samson and Joss seem to take the hint, Samson quickly sidling his body up the back of Sweeney to rest on the trainers right shoulder, while Joss fhovered silently above his head.

Brave Saix - Despite the intimidating, maximum security type aesthetic of the outside of the building, upon stepping into the headquarters, the sad state of affairs of the downtrodden police force became immediately apparent. A half-broken, flickering fluorescent light fixture dangled from the ceiling. At least four security cameras hung from cracked drywall, fixated directly on the entryway, but it was hard to say whether or not they even functioned. Sitting several feet in front of you was a rather defeated looking receptionist. He was situated at a wooden desk between a counter where a protective window once stood, and a large, barred, plexiglass window that allowed guests a view into the office space. The dimly lit room was filled with desks, but only half of them were filled. A few of the empty desks had wilted flowers resting in coffee mugs next to what looked to be family portraits. Others were covered in file folders and loose documents. Half of the floor looked to be covered in blank paper, much of it crumpled and torn. A few rugged, weathered detectives, not in uniform, were hunched over their desks smoking cigarettes and concentrating intensely.

The receptionist looked up at you and sighed. The bags under his eyes indicated that he most likely hadn't slept in days. He took a sip from his (probably cold) coffee. "I'm assuming you're both here for a job..." He stared daggers, as though he were looking at dead men walking. "You don't even need to answer. I've seen it all before. Yes... trainers just like you. They come to help the cause, they come for money, they come for justice, they come for the sense of self-importance and heroism. Many of them take the highest level offerings, and many never return. I wonder why you've come? It doesn't matter. It was rhetorical." The receptionist took another sip from his coffee. "Regardless, we won't turn down help when it's offered. Our officers - what remains of them, anyway - are overworked as is. We have a few investigations that need to be addressed yesterday, but we simply don't have the time, money, or manpower to take care of all of this city's overwhelming problems."

The receptionist opens a drawer, pulls out a clipboard, and sets it down on the counter. "Here, a small sampling of what we have available."

There were four options.

"Please note these cases are FIRST COME, FIRST SERVE. So. Are you in or are you out?"

The receptionist looks at the three of you impatiently...

Standing to the left of the trio as they looked over the provided list, Sypher mulled over his options in his head. "Disappearing vandals, predatory theft, illegal gambling. Those sound doable. Now what's this last on say?" Spyher's eye widened at the sudden jump in severity. Hectically, he spoke to the receptionist "This is a lot worse than I thought... Are there any hostages? Do they show any sign of escalating? You guys, I think we should prioritize helping out on this one... guys?"

Looking to his right, he saw that the others had already made their choices. They had taken the first and third options on the list, leaving only the occupation and theft to be dealt with. "I honestly doubt me and Jill could deal with the nightclub alone. Maybe we should just take the easier job. No one can fault us for that, can they?" Looking back to the receptionist, "I'll see to... to the... to the petty..."

"SCREE!!!" Sypher was cut off mid sentence as Jill tackles and clung to his face. She had noticed the reservation that had infected her partner.

"Yes, Jill?" Sypher asked as she remained clinging to his face.

"Noi no noiba?"

"No, nothings wrong... why do you ask?"

"Bat noi noi!"

Caving to her prods, "You can tell, huh? I know that its probably just worry, but the though that there could be people and Pokémon being held like that. For what insurance purposes? I just can't let that go. But then there's the Tyrogue that HAS been taken. I just don't know what to do."

"Noibat."

"You're right." Taking a breath he said "I'LL BE GO TO THE NIGHTCLUB!" as he turned to the receptionist with Jill still covering his face. "But I'm definitely going to need some help and all the intel you can give me."

OOC: Ok, let's see if I can juggle two people. RIP Neverthrive, you're stuck with me.

SHANTY HEIGHTS

neverthrive:

Is there anything worse than false advertisement? You came to Bedlam Ridge hoping to meet fellow turtle enthusiasts and instead find a ruthless gang of bandits. They should really put that in the travel brochure so other people don't get fooled. Luckily, you've found a safer, less gang infested area of the City to explore. You make your way down the streets of Shanty Heights, your faithful Squirtle companion in tow. The people there keep a wary distance from you, having learned to distrust strangers entering their city after years of attacks from the Ribs and Shells. At least you weren't gonna get robbed or anything here, right? Right?

The streets start to empty as you travel futher through the city, and soon you find yourself being the only pedestrian out and about. Looks like you can breathe a little easier. Or maybe you should worry that the streets were too quiet - that someone could be lurking around the corner. Watching. Waiting...
A glimmer down the street catches your eye. You follow the glimmer to its source - an ornate turtleshell just standing there in the middle of the road, held aloft by two orange clasps. And if that wasn't surprising enough, coins seemed to be pouring out from each of it's holes. It was if the heart of the shell was filled with gold. You've stumbled upon a fortune, and nobody's around. Do you take the turtleshell or leave it?

"This has to be some sort of trick, right?" Erven remarked, skeptically, of this new discovery. "I mean, it's totally obviously a trap, right?" he asked, turning to Greg for an answer, who looked to him in kind and simply shrugged. Erven sighed, feeling no less conflicted and turned his ponderous gaze back to the strange item.

Who would just leave a gold spewing turtle shell in the street if not for some nefarious purpose? But then again, he thought, who would just leave a gold spewing turtle shell in the street? Surely not Erven, as he stooped and grasped for the suspiciously appropriately themed trinket, figuring that the reward outweighed the risk.

BALMUND – As you make your off-hand comments about the jobs while looking them over, the receptionist grew more and more aggravated. He seemed to be taking them somewhat personally, but at the same time could not really find fault in what you had to say. He kept quiet.

“Alright, ‘Balmund of Blackthorn City.’ Here’s the deal.” He pulled out a map and smacked it down on the counter in front of you. “Ralph’s Barbecue. Don’t take this hole-in-the-wall bar and grill lightly. Years and years ago, the Marshal’s conducted one of the biggest gangbuster operations in the city’s history here. Turned out Team Rocket was using the place as a front for massive international money laundering. It led to the arrest of 223 Team Rocket members and helped contribute to their local downfall.” He took a sip from his coffee, which was now beginning to run dry. “You know how the rest of that story goes. Well, the place reformed as a legitimate restaurant, and before you knew it, business was booming. And then the council was murdered and all hell broke loose. We aren’t sure what happened, or when, but we recently received an anonymous tip that the Shells took the place back over in the name of Team Rocket.” He grimaced. “As you know, it’s been reported to be a gambling ring for down-on-their-luck citizens to bet on illegal Pokemon battles. Now, we don’t know the exact nature of what goes on down in the old speakeasy under the restaurant outside of a few details. For starters, the only day we know for certain that they gather on is Friday nights, and it just so happens that today is a Friday. Second, we don’t know what kind of Pokemon they are using in this ring, or where they are even getting them. But given that they are Shells, it doesn’t really take much stretching of the imagination to come to several possible conclusions. We’ll need hard evidence before we can truly know for sure, though.”

The receptionist furled the map and tucked it under his desk. He then pulled out a large bowl with several marked Pokeballs in it. “Should you choose to, we have several department Pokemon available to assist trainers on these types cases. You may take one with you if you wish.” The receptionist pushed the bowl forward. The marked balls read the names of each species they contained. Braviary, Growlithe, Machoke, Hawlucha, Shiftry, and Gumshoos. “You have one advantage that many of us do not. You’re an outsider, and it shows. While this place’s primary demographic are common folk who are living paycheck to paycheck, these types of shindigs also attract a lot of passing travelers, a bill you fit perfectly. Use that to your advantage.” He took another sip of his coffee, this time slurping what remained. He was not happy with this fact. “Anyway, if you want to get into the ring, you’re gonna need to do exactly as I say. You’re gonna go to the barbecue joint, and you’re gonna go up to the bar. When the bartender asks you what you want, you’re gonna tell them you want the Slowpoke Special. They’re going to take you to the back, and from there you’ll be led into the basement. We don’t really know much else, so you’re on your own from that point.” Lastly, he hands you a small shortwave radio. “If you find yourself in any sort of trouble you can’t get out of, you can use this to reach out to me. Otherwise keep it off and hidden.” He pulled out a cigarette and twisted it between his fingers. “We’ll leave the way you approach this up to you. My personal recommendation is to play dumb, get in there, partake as a spectator, and survey the area. If you get an opportunity to look around, take it. Now, given that we don’t have all the details, you’ll need to get some of that information on your own before coming up with a game plan. Now get the hell out there and clean this city up.” He waved you toward the door.

You’ll need to decide if you are taking what the receptionist is offering or not.

- -

Arriving at Ralph’s wasn’t much of a hassle. The partially burnt out neon sign reads “AL BAR CUE”, but for some reason this actually gave the place a bit of charm. You could hear music playing loudly from behind the closed doors of the locale; it seemed to be particularly bustling tonight…

TheKnightsFury – The receptionist sighed as the man who called himself Balmund of Blackthorn City took his leave. He was clearly irritated by the amount of work you were giving him in regards to your heavy gear. Frankly, he was almost certainly more irritated by the fact that he had just run out of coffee, and the pot on the counter behind him was bone-dry. If you had to guess, it was most likely the only reason he hadn’t passed out where he stood. He rose up from his chair, hunched over, and let out a grunt. He pulled a small filing cart with an unhinged wheel out from underneath the counter. Piece by piece, he lifted your equipment into it. He slowly began to push the cart down the hall to his right. “Locker room,” he noted, nodding his head towards the direction he was walking. You apologized to him, but he shrugged his shoulders silently. “Just stay put for a moment. I’m going to need to debrief you further.”

The receptionist returned moments later with a cardboard box under his arm. He plopped it down onto the desk with an uncaring thud. He leaned one arm against the counter and scratched his five o’clock shadow with the other. “Alright, listen up, Jayson,” he grunted. “The job may say it’s Rank C, but truthfully the department isn’t entirely sure if this particular complaint is part of something potentially much bigger,” he said. He pulled a wooden chair out from behind him, without breaking eye contact, spun it around, draped himself across it legs spread, and leaned forward. “Because of the nature of the complaint, the department couldn’t justify a ranking higher than C. But as far as the higher ups are concerned, moving forward, you should be prepared for anything to happen. In all of our time dealing with the Ribs, we’ve learned that they can be unpredictable, and disjointed. Sometimes a call is just a couple of punks spray painting crude images onto the side of some abandoned house, and other times it’s a huge drug bust. Am I making sense?” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “What I am telling you is that, even though this is a Rank C mission, you need to go in with the mindset that this is something even higher. Because quite frankly, it could turn into that.” The receptionist stood up and kicked his chair to the side. He pulled open the box on the counter and revealed to you its contents. “Here. I want you to take these.”

He reached in. The first thing he pulled out was a small, shortwave radio no bigger than the palm of your hand. “Its range isn’t great, but given that you’re not going very far, it shouldn’t be a problem. Keep it safe, hidden, and turned off unless you really need it. I will be standing by on the receiver if you need anything or have any information to share – in fact, if you make any sort of discovery that becomes too much for you to handle, I expect you will inform us immediately, or else you’ll just end up like…” He cleared his throat. “Anyways. Onto the next items,” he said as he lifted some tattered garments out of the box. “Taking off your… whatever that junk was, and rustling up your hair a bit, isn’t going to be enough for you to blend in. With all due respect, you stand out like a Glameow in a litter of Rockruff.” He handed you a blue beanie, a muscle shirt, and worn out jeans. “These are the types of clothes our officers wear when they go undercover. Since you’re essentially doing just that, I highly suggest you put on at least some of these items. You’ll blend in more.” Finally, he lifted out a Pokeball. “This,” he said in a hushed tone, “is off the record. This one isn’t even sanctioned by the department. Only use this if you have no choice. Consider it a backup plan. If my boss finds out I am lending you this, I could lose my job. But,” his voice cracked a little. He cleared his throat. “I don’t want someone else disappearing because we didn’t take the necessary precautions.” He regained composure. It was odd; in the short time you’ve known him, this struck you as a particularly vulnerable side of the officer that you, perhaps, weren’t supposed to see. “I can’t stress it enough. Only use this Pokemon if you are out of options. Our work is supposed to be subtle, calculated, and efficient, something that this... is not.”

He walks you to the door. He seemed less irritated now, and more sympathetic. “If you need me, you know where to reach me. And by the way, you can call me Detective Ehrmantraut.”

You need to decide whether or not you have accepted your offered items, or if you will stow them away.

- - -

You arrived at Goldenridge Park with seemingly no complications. A few suspicious characters shot you some passing glances as you made your way to the park, but otherwise no problem. The tall, gated entry to the park was broken, one side hanging on loose hinges, slowly swaying in the wind. Three medium build men stood just past the gate leaning against a tree, smoking. They were stocky and lanky, and seemed somewhat on edge about something. They definitely looked like common street thugs, whatever common street thugs looked like. Behind them, you could see a bit into the park. From what you could tell, there was a half-standing playground, a gazebo next to an old well with broken ropes, and a small lake. Suddenly, one of the men takes notice of you, and the other two turn their attention toward you as well. They flick their cigarettes on the ground, stamp them out, and walk toward you slowly, smiling. One cracks his knuckles as a grin stretches across his face. “Well well well, boys,” one said, “looks like we’ve got company. I haven’t seen this one around here before! I always love a fresh face. Unless you’re a dirty Pignite, because then,” he motioned toward his pocket, patting it lightly, “we might have a problem. If you catch my drift. You get one shot at this, and one shot only, pal. Are you with us, or are you against us?”

Brave Saix - Being the third to choose your mission, you wait for the other two to leave the building before coming to a conclusion. One of the trainers was going to the park, and the other was going to be investigating the gambling ring in hopes of finding out if there was a connection between it and the nightclub. As soon as the trainers took their leave, you snatched the paper out of the clipboard. Jill excitedly took the paper from your hands and flapped it over to the receptionist, Officer Ehrmantraut. He slowly grabbed it from her claws, and then looked up to you. The unlit cigarette he had sitting between his lips fell out. He grimaced. “Kid. Are you sure you want to do this?” You nod excitedly. Your Noibat, Jill, lets out a screech of excitement and confidence. The receptionist sighed. He stood up. “So be it.”

He pulled a large file box from under his desk and dropped it onto the counter. This guy seems to have a lot of boxes under his desk. You wondered how much room was down there anyway. Oh well. “Listen up. We really do not know much about this case right now. Our intel is extremely limited, but that’s where you come in. The Shells have one big problem, and they’ve recently realized that: their numbers are dwindling. Because they are remnants of the city’s Team Rocket prior to its downfall, their numbers have only been decreasing with time due to members leaving, being arrested, or dying. So, they’ve opened up recruitment. They’re marketing themselves as the chemo for the Rib cancer, so to speak. They want to annihilate the Ribs and, in their ideal world, rule the town with an iron fist. The thing is though, they aren’t recruiting just anyone, at least not yet. They’re only recruiting family and friends of current or former Shells. And surprisingly, it’s working.” He began to boil a new pot of coffee. “Much of the town’s citizens are tired of the ongoing war between the Shells and the Ribs and would rather see a lawful-evil rule than a chaotic one full of vandalism and petty crime. In other words, a lot of people would prefer organized crime, believing it would clean the town back up.”

He slammed his fists onto the table, catching you and Jill of guard. “It’s such bullshit. We don’t need either of them. They BOTH need to go!” He was shaking and his face was beet red. He slowly reached for the cigarette he dropped, lit it, and then cleared his throat. “Anyway.” He lifted the lid of the file box. “Former Rocket member Thomas McLarty. KIA in a police operation seven years ago while robbing a bank. He was killed by one of our undercover agents on the scene when he nearly blew out some poor clerk’s brains. Saved her life, it did.” Ehrmantraut looked a little sad. “Turned out he was the sole provider for his younger brother James McLarty, who went into foster care after his brother was killed.” He turned to you, looking you up and down. “You’re about the right age now to be his brother, James. You see where I’m going with this?” He lifted an old Rocket shirt out of the box and handed it to you. “You’re not going to wear this, but you are going to keep it on you. “Once you arrive at the nightclub, you’re going to hand this to the guard, and tell them you’re James McClarty. You need to come up with a reason, but tell them you want to join. Whatever happens from that point forward is up to you – you’re on your own. We’re blind on this.”

He pulled out another bowl of Pokeballs, like he did earlier with another trainer, but this one was different. Each ball had a small label on it: Poliwrath, Hariyama, Gallade, Escavalier, Pangoro. “These are the department’s prized shared Pokemon. We don’t have many, but we save them for cases like this one. Please, take one with you. You will, of course, return it once your mission is successful… if it’s successful... but in the event that you get stuck between a rock and a hard place and decide you need backup, the option is there. Don’t get in over your head if you can help it. Ideally, you should not have to use the borrowed Pokemon at all. Going the entire mission without its use is both preferable and signifies you did not get put in a situation you couldn’t get out of, but regardless, we all need a backup plan.”

“Lastly, take this shortwave radio. If you are in an emergency, let me know immediately. It’s small enough to hide, so keep it somewhere hidden and safe. Now get going. And come back alive. We need that Pokemon back.”

He insists you borrow a Pokemon for backup and sends you on your way to the Delphroxx Nightclub…

Hiero put his hand to his forehead, covering one eye. His ears, having just been filled with a sudden sound akin to that of crackling static, rang intensely. He had expected something to happen, but not like this, and not so soon after entering the bastion. He pressed his back to a nearby wall and focused his vision on one object, but the vertigo he was undergoing was overwhelming. He closed his eyes and slid into a crouch. He pressed his index and middle fingers to his temples, and sat still, recounting exactly what he just experienced in his mind.

The bastion shook with the sudden clap of thunder. He figured that a bolt of lightning must have struck the tower. The woman… something was off about her. No. Everything was off. He had heard rumors that a member of the council may have survived the massacre, but that’s all they were – rumors. There was no substantial evidence behind them, and on top of that, there’s no reason to believe this woman was the supposed surviving council member.

He scratched it off the list. He was willing to remain open-minded to the possibility, but he figured he was better off putting this option on the backburner for now. This did not feel natural; it felt… theatrical. Not just theatrical, but supernatural, too. Hiero’s head was swimming with possibilities. He felt as though he had a pretty good idea as to what might have been going on, but his logic wasn’t yet solidified. He needed more. A trick like this may have worked on a younger trainer, but…

He stood up. Bursts of lightning flashed through the window from outside. Or… maybe they didn’t? Hiero’s shoulders stiffened and he reached for a pokeball. He wasn’t sure he could trust any of his senses right now. The lighting storm outside; the mysterious woman who appeared to have been stabbed; the grinding emanating from the nearby room. He understood that the rules of the game had changed, and that he was going to have to adapt in order to play. He looked around his immediate vicinity: all he had to go off of right now was the blood on the floor and the grinding in the chamber. If only he had had a Pokemon with Foresight…

He pulled a pokeball from his waist and threw it to the ground. His Umbreon appeared. “Eyes and ears peeled, Umbra. We can’t afford to let our guard down. While I have my suspicions, our target is unknown, so we need to be vigilant. For now, the best thing we can do is expect the unexpected.” His Umbreon understood, and silently nodded in agreement. Hiero pointed at the trail of blood on the floor that led into the chamber. The best way to play this game was to play dumb, and on the opponent’s terms, allowing it to think it has the upper hand until it lets its guard down. Hiero was certain Umbreon knew this much as well. Thunder cracked. The pair took a deep breath and proceeded to follow the blood soaked floor to the chamber door...

Location: Life and love make fools of us all. Gods reject the existence of love and life.

Posts: 1,824

What you see and hear may not be as reinforced as you believe.

The Ribcage Mall.

134: Ross only shrugs as you mention your reluctance to battle, before his brow furrows in annoyance at your mention of having the upper hand.

"Don't get cocky, kid, looks can be deceiving...detect what the water fox does," he growls as Kakahai, confident against this inferior Eeveelution gives a large yawn at the situation, attempting to reduce the will of the fire type, a small wave of pink bubbles drifting towards it, only for the fox to deftly roll to the side in a perfectly timed dodge, before staring at the Vaporeon, in anticipation of her next move.

"Snare it in a grass knot, then strike with a burst of fury swipes."

Surely he jests, you think to yourself, given neither of those moves make any sense. In fact, you're sure Flareon learns neither of those and are skeptical of the order, but as you watch in alarm, the Flareon stomps forward, tendrils of green snaking across to the surprised Vaporeon and wrapping around her legs, pulling them together and causing your companion to topple over. Thankfully her relatively low weight reduces a potentially powerful attack to be merely painful, and from her grounded position Kakahai still has a clear shot at the rapidly approaching Eeveelution, inhaling then spitting a jet of water at the fox's face, seeking to gun down the approach...

...only for the Flareon's skin to start melting, to your shock. No, it wasn't melting...it was closer to dissipating, as though the Flareon was only an illusion! As the true culprit bursts out, you hear Ross burst out into a laugh as a black fox with red markings begins to scratch at Kakahai's face and body, the Zorua having played you both for fools as Kakahai struggles free of the grassy bindings and puts some distance between her and the dark type.

"Hah! Like I said, looks can be deceiving, and I ain't dumb enough to use my Flareon against a Vaporeon. Still, the jig's up, Loki. Double team around the water thing, then get in with aerial ace before putting distance and blasting 'er with yer dark pulse!"

You've been tricked it seems, yet Kakahai is still raring to go despite taking some noticable damage, while your true foe stands before you, the Tricky Fox preparing to live up to its classification, having taken a respectable hit. How will you and Kakahai cover for your disastrous start?

Crystal Grove.

Missingno. Master: "Was giving you the choice really necessary?" Donovan jokes as you give your word of assistance to the cause of hunting down and bringing this Black Scarab person to justice, with your own reasons for this being admittedly personal partly. "We'll get your Meowth seen to at the outpost, though for reasons that should be obvious I recommend withdrawing your Scolipede for now. Come, we head to the south."

With Salazar in the safety of his pokeball and your own safety reinforced more, you and Meowth start to follow Donovan and Hawkeye when the Chespin gives a chirp to him, showing him the tablet as he nods. Turning to you, the man explains that despite being technically wild due to lack of trainer, the Chespin mostly serves as a link between the Marshals and the Vanguard, and as such will be heading back to the headquarters to report on the recent activity, and that they'll rejoin the group in a few hours or so. The journey through the grove is relatively peaceful, and you're quick to note the architecture seems much more intricate the further south you venture, until you find yourselves at a small granite structure outside a fortified wall, with an enormous complex structure beyond the gates, the skies above absolutely swarming with flying pokemon.

"The Crimson Sanctum. The five hundred metres between here and the boundary gates down there are a no-man's zone. The Vanguard, however, are situated in the undercity," your companion explains as he unlocks the door on the granite building revealing a staircase. "Down here, and stick close. The place is a labyrinth, and the people have told stories of something unnatural said to stalk the undercity...something not of here." he whispers, as you get the feeling he's not willing to explain any further. Heading into the tunnel, you and Meowth are about to discuss the sights you've seen when a small red berry lands in the paws of your feline ally, handed by the Decidueye: a Cheri berry, which Meowth practically inhales in a manner that would make a Swalot jealous, paralysis abating though he still feels a little sore from the previous sortie.

The walk through corridors is long, and Donovan seems quite knowledgable, so if there's anything you and Meowth were curious on regarding the scenario before you, be it the sanctum, the Shells, the unnatural phenomenom, or even about the man himself and his group, now would be the best time.

Crimson Sanctum.

Gemini Spark: Your surprise and confusion surrounding Neemee is shared with Chex, but given the unusual figure seems smarter than it looks, and the fact it hasn't tried to kill you, you feel you can trust them for now. Giving your response, the robed figure seems to bounce a little on the spot in joy.

"Many thankings to kyu! Me-me will open ghost tunnel now!" they squeak, as they shuffle over to a spot in the cobbled road, before seemingly procuring a thick branch from absolutely nowhere, digging it into the stone and then hefting down to raise the stones, revealing a shaft. Beckoning you and Chex over, Neemee enters first, the stick starting to strain a little from holding up the heavy rock.

"Please grab me-me's stick! Very close to me-me!" they echo as they descend, as you and your Scizor enter the tunnel despite the slight squeeze on the Scizor's part, the sectre entrance closing with a dull thud, sealing you in darkness. As you continue to descend, you see a small flicker of orange beneath you, the stranger having conveniently lit up a torch. Reaching the bottom, you then notice the walls.

Solid stone, seemingly carved by something sharp and strong into dust, in an irregular waving pattern. Wherever this was beneath the cathedral complex, it was very far down.

"Very dark down here. Kyu have light-light though! Me-me lead way, kyu get lost on own. Bang-bang squads not know of ghost tunnel, only ghosts know!"

You and Chex proceed through the rocky cave behind Neemee slowly, as the only sounds you hear are your footsteps...specifically yours and your Scizor's. As you start to think, you notice that Neemee seems to be gliding across the ground, with no sign of feet moving, as though they didn't have any. The masked figure occasionally looks back at you, ensuring you haven't fell behind, giving the occasional squeak, until the three of you emerge at a larger cave, adorned with small gemstones you recognise as quartz, of little monetary value.

At the request, you point Chex in the direction of the fallen rocks, asking him to clear the way. As the Scizor approaches, however, the stones begin to move, as if they have a mind of their own...the blockage grumbles and swirls into a vaguely humanoid shape, with lumpy fists and a crimson wedge in the centre. The figure then swings a stony fist forward, forcing Chex to hop back as what seems to be a Regirock stands before you...if Regirock were four foot tall and had large noses, which they most certainly do not.

"Ah! Pass-nose again! Very sneaks, such magnets, much ores, wow!" Neemee squeaks as Chex finds himself slowly pulled in the direction of the rock-caked Nosepass, which appears to be blocking the way forward. Well, you're stuck between a rock and a hard place, literally, and the golem-cosplaying moai doesn't want you to proceed, as a fight seems all but certain. How will you deal with this problem?